


set my mind to wandering and walk a broken line

by numinousnic



Series: Wardens of West Gevance [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Diary/Journal, Dungeons & Cowboys (DnD 5E Homebrew), Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Epistolary, Gen, Homebrew Content, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numinousnic/pseuds/numinousnic
Summary: Maybe takin' up De La'Coen on her job offer jus' to run away from everythin' else is a cowardly plan. But never let it be said thatI'ma coward. Afraid of the past, maybe — an' rightfully so — but not of what the future might bring.Being the journal of renegade ranger Johanna "Jo" Raab, and their travels and travails throughout West Gevance.Set in@chloesclichescreenname'sDungeons & Cowboyscampaign, a fantasy Western homebrew for DnD 5E.
Series: Wardens of West Gevance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971994
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Sunday, July 27 - Thursday, August 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jo begins their journal and a journey (or an escape).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~... I _swore_ to myself that I wasn't going to write a whole fic for this campaign, but then my GM made an offhand comment about Jo having a journal and one thing _very_ much led to another.~~
> 
> If you've previously read ["look who's diggin' their own grave"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709403) and/or ["forget the horror here"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020884): we're getting there eventually, but in the meantime, enjoy the exposition! And if you haven't read either of those and are just coming across this series for the first time: you are certainly welcome to read ahead while waiting for more chapters of this fic, but if that's not your cup of tea, enjoy this while you wait to read the rest!
> 
> The title of this fic is from ["Raise Hell" by Brandi Carlisle](https://youtu.be/k20r8dA8PcI) (I already swiped that exact lyric to use as a title for [Jo's playlist](https://numinousnic.tumblr.com/post/630502942972198912/set-my-mind-to-wandering-walk-a-broken-line-a), so hey: why not here as well?)
> 
> _**Content warnings are in the end notes.** _

**— SUN., JULY 27, 1880 —**

I’m not really sure where to start. But maybe admittin’ I don’t know where to start is the best place to begin.

That sounds mighty profound now that it’s down on paper (or maybe more pompous), but it’s the truth. My life hasn’t much lent itself to the kind of leisure I always assumed you’d need to keep a _journal —_ hell, when I was out on the road back east, I barely had time to send letters home! But havin’ been settled for… Trin, over a _year_ now, changes a lot of things, _that_ included.

But at the same time, my life’s hardly full of the kind of excitement that someone might feel the need to _write_ about. I know my journal ain’t for anyone’s eyes other than my own — that it’s not some dime novel that needs to have as many shockin’ twists an’ turns as its hack writer can throw in — but I can’t help but feel that these pages would be wasted on a life as common as mine.

I told Kate that when she offered me this journal, an’ as always, she offered up a whole new perspective on things. Accordin’ to her, what a journal _should_ be for is self-reflection: for gettin’ your thoughts in order, for settin’ yourself straight whenever you feel like you’re in danger of turnin’ wrong. An’ as such (so Kate said), journalin’ should be for everyone: not just the people with the time for it or with important lives to record for posterity.

So, I’ll give this a shot. I mean, I hardly want to turn down Kate’s gift: ‘specially after she offered her extra journal an’ one of her good pens so readily after I complimented her own. Besides, Kate writes all the time, an’ she’s one of the smartest, most self-possessed people I know, so she _must_ be onto somethin’.

**Later —**

Came home from the hillside with Kate an’ had Sunday dinner with her an’ Eileen, as usual. Pretty sure at this point that if I jus’ invited myself over, neither of ‘em would bat an eyelid, but it _is_ sweet that Kate makes a point of invitin’ me over every week.

… Can’t believe it took me this long to realize that there’s no desk in my room. Then again, I hardly had a need for one before. I’ll ask Maurice tomorrow if he’s got any old furniture kickin’ around — failin’ that, I’ll be repurposin’ one of his saloon’s smaller tables.

**— MON., JULY 28, 1880 —**

First full day of usin’ this journal, so I suppose I better start off strong: ‘specially since my little attic room now has a desk! Maurice an’ I ended up takin’ a saw to the sides so we could jam it in the window alcove, but at least I won’t be knockin’ my head against the ceilin’ every time I stand.

Rose early an’ had breakfast in the Nettle Sting’s kitchen with Maurice before headin’ to work. Last week, I’d scouted out a location for a new loggin’ camp for the Twin Lakes Lumber Co. — made sure the trees were healthy an’ not too young or old, checked for signs of wildlife that the workers might inadvertently agitate, an’ so on. This week, I just have to make sure the folks settin’ up the camp an’ workin’ the site follow my recommendations. Granted, the veteran lumberjacks always do; they trust Eileen’s good judgment, an’ my skill as a ranger. But the greenhorns are a mixed bag, an’ ever since the Bear Incident early last winter, I like to be close at hand in case I need to save the hide of one of the more foolish ones.

Anyway, that was an all-day affair, but the camp’s almost set up an’ work can properly begin by lunchtime tomorrow if things keep on track. Took dinner up to my room to eat while I write this, so I’m writin’ slow to try to avoid stainin’ the pages… with only moderate success.

**— TUES., JULY 29, 1880 —**

Besides the new Twin Lakes camp bein’ fully operational (as of lunchtime, as predicted), not much to say.

**— WEDS., JULY 30, 1880 —**

If my days keep goin’ along, business as usual-like, it’s goin’ to be damn hard to keep a habit of journalin’. I mean, I _could_ write about my routine every single day, but I think that would get real dull after a while.

… Then again, maybe I should be glad things are dull.

**— SAT., AUG. 2, 1880 —**

“Maybe I should be glad things are dull”... yeah. _Really_ should have appreciated that when I still had the chance to.

So. Like all Saturday nights, I was spendin’ it downstairs in the Nettle Sting proper: drinkin’, gamblin’, an’ jus’ blowin’ off some steam in general. Kate was there for a few hours — me an’ a few other folks convinced her to take over the piano in the corner, an’ she’d gotten a few lively reels out of that busted old thing that had gotten everyone dancin’ an’ stompin’ their feet. But eventually Kate went home, so I’d started playin’ cards with a few folks: Howard an’ Effie, both workers at Twin Lakes that I’ve known for a season or two, an’ Alonzo Rig, a regular at the Nettle Sting.

But after a few hands, Howard an’ Effie had called it quits as well, so it was just me an’ Alonzo. Neither of us had felt like losin’ much more of our money to each other, so we decided to invest in more of Maurice’s honey whiskey instead an’ we just… ended up shootin’ the shit. Which was odd, because Alonzo’s never been the talkative sort — I mean, this weren’t the first night we’ve drank an’ gambled away together at the Nettle Sting, but I’ve never seen him around Raggdale otherwise.

When I asked him why that was, he got real quiet, an’ it took him a long time to finally answer. “Because,” he said flatly, “I’ve been out looking for someone.”

“Lookin’ for who?” I wanted to know.

Alonzo’s face got even more grim. “The outlaws that burned my homestead and slaughtered my family,” he spat. “Bastards call themselves the Wild Hunt. But I’m hunting _them_ now, and I’m not stopping ‘til every last one of them is dead.”

An’ I jus’... _fuck._ I swear, when Alonzo said that, my heart stopped right then an’ there. Even now, an hour later, I still ain’t sure if it ever got to beatin’ again.

Alonzo saw the look on my face, an’ his own stony expression hardened even further. “You heard of them?”

I lied. Said I hadn’t. I’m not proud of it, but I knew with a story like that, he wouldn’t take kindly to mine. “Didn’t expect to hear _that,_ is all,” I managed. _That,_ at least, was true. “I’m sorry about your family.”

Alonzo snorted. “Sympathy won’t bring them back. Murderin’ the Hunt won’t either.” He stood up, sweepin’ his hat back onto his head. “But it sure as hell will be satisfying.” An’ with that, he drained his glass an’ walked out, leavin’ me alone an’ speechless at the table.

Even though I’m somehow managin’ to get this all down on paper, I still don’t really know what to say, or what to think, or what to do. How long has it been, since Alonzo’s homestead was attacked? Could the Hunt still be lurkin’ around — maybe even in the very forest I was in jus’ this past week? How come they’ve roamed this far from the Trin Mountains?

An’ is it all because they’re still lookin’ for me?

I’ve got so many more questions than answers, but no way to ask ‘em without arousin’ suspicion. Maybe by the time I see Alonzo again, I can figure out a way of askin’ ‘em that won’t set him off, but right now… Trin, I’m so _afraid._ I really thought I was safe _here,_ after all this time, but if _not —_

Fuck. _Fuck._ I don’t know _what_ I’m goin’ to do. Or what I even _can_ do.

**— WEDS., AUG. 7, 1880 —**

I know I haven’t written that much — or at _all —_ this week. But both work an’ worry have kept me real busy, an’ despite what Kate would claim, not even journalin’ could lift a weight like this off my shoulders. 

(Not that Kate knows about Saturday night. But I can tell she’s makin’ an extra effort to be cheerful around me, to try an’ raise my spirits. An’ I appreciate her concern, but… I don’t even know how to _begin_ tellin’ her what’s really wrong.)

Speakin’ of Saturday night… I haven’t seen Alonzo since then. Normally, he would have swung by the Nettle Sting tonight, but I didn’t glimpse so much as a feather. I’m tryin’ to tell myself to not get too worked up over it, that it’s Alonzo ain’t even in Raggdale all the time anyway, but it ain’t workin’.

**— FRI., AUG. 9, 1880 —**

Rider came through town today, tackin’ up notices on what seems like every bulletin board in Raggdale. Heard whispers about what was on the notice from plenty of Twin Lakes folks more focused on swappin’ gossip than cuttin’ lumber, but I didn’t see the actual advertisement itself until I walked in the Nettle Sting at the end of the workday an’ Maurice handed it to me.

The notice went like this:

 **_WANTED_** ** _  
_** _BRAVE AND ADVENTUROUS SOULS LOOKING FOR IMMENSE FORTUNE_

 _TO BE HIRED BY MS. JESSICA DE LA’COEN_ _  
__FOR WEALTH BEYOND IMAGINATION_

_APPLICANTS ARE TO ARRIVE AT HER DRILLING PLANT_   
_JOB WILL BE DESCRIBED AFTER APPLICATION IS ACCEPTED_   
_COWARDS NEED NOT APPLY_

I frowned. “‘Jessica De La’Coen’? Who’s she?”

Maurice’s eyebrows shot up. “Only the richest woman in West Gevance is who,” he said, clearly surprised I didn’t know that. “Big oil tycoon. Runs De La’Coen Drilling up north, in the mountains near Harl Kindon.” 

“Well, if she’s so rich,” I asked, slidin’ the poster back across the bar, “she can probably have her pick of adventurers or gunslingers or whoever to hire for whatever she pleases. Why’s she sendin’ out a notice like this for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to see?”

“Well, you saw what it said: ‘Cowards need not apply.’” Maurice slid the poster back my way, then started wipin’ down the bar. “Plenty of folks out here want to get rich, but not many are willing to take risks for it.” He shrugged. “De La’Coen’s one of the few who has, and I’d imagine she wants folks of a similar disposition.”

“An’ you’re sayin’ _I’m_ one of those folks?”

Maurice chuckled. “I don’t think you’re _not_ one,” he said. “Besides, even though you have those freelance gigs with Eileen now, I know you’re always looking for a little extra work.” He tapped the poster. “And if you get a job like _this,_ Jo, you wouldn’t have to worry about money for a good long while.”

“If De La’Coen’s as rich as you say, I’ve no doubt of that.” I crossed my arms an’ leaned on the bar. “But I can make do as is. I jus’ — I’d like to stick around Raggdale for as long as I can.”

Maurice gave me an oddly searchin’ look. “This about Kate?”

I blinked. “What about Kate?”

Didn’t think Maurice’s eyebrows could go any higher, but somehow they did. “Ah, never mind,” he said after a beat. “And never mind De La’Coen’s notice either. Just thought it might be something you’d be interested in.” He turned to the shelves of liquor behind the bar. “Anyway, what’ll your poison be tonight?”

An’ that was the end of _that_ conversation, thankfully. I mean, I’ve no doubt that Maurice means well. He’s been good to me since the day I rolled into Raggdale with nothin’ but the clothes on my back — he’s the reason I have a roof over my head, an’ at _least_ half the reason I’ve found as much work around this town as I have. 

But leavin’ Raggdale… if the Hunt’s still around, I wouldn’t want to give ‘em a chance to get at me alone on the open road. But if I stay here, I could be puttin’ everyone I know an’ care about in danger: Maurice, Eileen, _Kate —_

Also, what the hell did Maurice mean to say about Kate? I’m not denyin’ I want to stay in Raggdale because of her — I might be friendly with Maurice an’ Eileen, but at the end of the day, they’ve still been my boss at one time or another. Kate is my _friend,_ full stop: maybe one of the only ones I’ve ever had.

… Okay, so _maybe_ sometimes I wish that we weren’t just friends. An’ sometimes, I think that _maybe,_ Kate might feel the same way. But… leavin’ out the fact that I work for her ma, there’s just a lot in the way. Most of it me, an’ all of that my past. An’ most of all, the kind of people I hung around with — an’ who I loved before.

Kate’s about as far from Deb as a person can get; I know that. But if I _did_ tell Kate about the Hunt, about Deb, about _all_ of it… even if she don’t drive me off outright, she’ll look at me differently from then on out. 

An’ the thought of her hatin’ me hurts me worse than all my worry about the Hunt.

**— SAT., AUG. 10, 1880 —**

Still no sign of Alonzo. I was at the Nettle Sting until Maurice shut the bar down an’ shooed the stragglers out to the porch, an’ I didn’t see him the entire night. I asked around, too, but no one had seen him since Saturday night. “And even so,” they all said without fail, brows furrowed in confusion, “weren’t _you_ the last one to speak with him, Jo?”

Trin, what if the Hunt really _did_ catch up to him? I don’t want to believe it, but if they already had it out for his kin…

**— SUN., AUG. 11, 1880 —**

De La’Coen’s notice was still on the Nettle Sting’s bulletin board when I came downstairs this mornin’. An’ I’ve been starin’ at it for what feels like the whole day.

Might have made my choice a lot quicker or easier if I actually _knew_ what the job entailed. But if it gets me far away from Raggdale — an’ leads the Hunt away, too — then I think that jus’ about makes my choice for me. Plus, the kind of money I’d get for this job gives me _options:_ chief among them a way to stay a step ahead of the Hunt for as long as I have to.

Maybe takin’ up De La’Coen on her job offer jus’ to run away from everythin’ else is a cowardly plan. But never let it be said that _I’m_ a coward. Afraid of the past, maybe — an’ rightfully so — but not of what the future might bring.

… Shit, the day really _did_ get away from me. Goin’ to miss Sunday dinner if I don’t go _now._

**Later —**

Pulled aside Eileen after dinner to let her know that I was lookin’ to leave Raggdale this week for other work. She was fine with it — I had a feelin’ she would be; my latest gig with Twin Lakes had long since wrapped up — but she was less fine with me askin’ her to not break the news to Kate jus’ yet. 

“You better tell her yourself before you go,” Eileen ordered, an’ that steely look in her eyes added loud an’ clear: _Or else._

I swallowed. “I will.”

Her gaze didn’t soften. “I’m holdin’ you to that, Jo.”

I will. I know I have to. I jus’ don’t know how I can do it quite yet.

**— TUES., AUG. 12, 1880 —**

Finished makin’ all my final arrangements today. Tried to pay Maurice for my room for the next two months or so, since I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but he waved it away. “Come back when you’ve got De La’Coen’s money,” he said with a laugh. “We’ll square away rent then.”

Anyway. What I needed to pack is all packed: provisions, a map, my bow an’ hatchet, my campin’ equipment… anythin’ I might need. All I need to do tomorrow mornin’ is swing by the stables an’ get Ginger an’ then… three days of hard ridin’, maybe two if all goes well, before I hit De La’Coen Drilling. An’ hopefully, I won’t have to immediately turn around an’ come back.

… I should head to the hillside soon. Kate’s probably already there waitin’. 

**— WEDS., AUG. 13, 1880 —**

Left Raggdale before the sun rose an’ I’ve been ridin’ north ever since. Accordin’ to my map, I’m somewhere in the plains between Justice an’ Penango: both towns I’ve never been to. Probably could have stopped in Justice, found a room to spend the night in before movin’ on, but I really wanted to try an’ cover as much ground as possible.

Besides, it’s been a while since I slept out under the stars. Forgot how much I missed that.

… So. About last night. 

I _did_ tell Kate. Not so much about _why_ I was leavin’ Raggdale: more the fact that I was leavin’ to find work elsewhere. An’ she... didn’t take it very well. I mean, she did her best to put on a brave face at first, but once she started cryin’, I jus’... Trin, I wanted to take it all back. But all I could do was jus’ dry her tears, an’ try an’ tell her that this weren’t goodbye for good, that I’d come back as soon as I was able.

“But are you going to _stay?”_ Kate whispered, her voice breakin’. “If — if you have the option.”

I hesitated, my fingers slippin’ from her blotchy cheek. “I’d like to,” I said quietly. “I really would.”

Kate inhaled shakily. She looked like she wanted to say somethin’, _desperately_ so, but I could tell she weren’t goin’ to say it. I’d hurt her too much already. “And I hope you do,” she finally choked out. “I _really_ do.”

An’ in that moment, I jus’... I _knew._ I’d already known for a long time how I felt about Kate, but I could only ever guess at her feelings towards me. But there, with moonlight shinin’ on her tear-streaked face an’ shimmerin’ in those wide brown eyes, I knew what Kate wanted to say, to try an’ keep me here in Raggdale with her. An’ it was that she loved me.

Should I have told her first? Granted, I don’t know what good it would have done; I would have been leavin’ in the mornin’ anyway. An’ then I might have had to tell her _why —_ an’ that’s about the only thing I could think of that would’ve made that whole conversation even more painful than it already was.

… Still. I can’t help feelin’ that I should have. Even if that had gone sour, too, at least I’d have one less regret weighin’ on me.

**— THURS., AUG. 14, 1880 —**

Made great time today — I’m settin’ up camp for the night on the other side of Penango. Early tomorrow mornin’, I’ll be at De La’Coen Drilling: hopefully before any other would-be applicants. 

An’ from there? Trin only knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**CW:** Mention of past murder._
> 
> As you might have guessed, this chapter was entirely pre-campaign scene-setting, but next chapter will be jumping _right_ into the campaign itself! I have about twenty previous sessions of material to write about (and many more sessions to come), so I have no idea how long this fic will end up being, or how consistent updates will be — but I'm glad you're all here for the ride!


	2. Friday, August 15 - Saturday, August 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jo, and two strangers, get a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got so caught up in my other multi-chapter fic (and in pinch-hitting for a zine) that I forgot I had 95% of this written out and sitting in Google Drive already. So here it is: the _actual_ beginning of this campaign!
> 
> _**Content warnings are in the end notes.** _

**— FRI., AUG. 15, 1880 —**

The good news first: I got the job. 

Granted, I ain’t the only one; De La’Coen roped me an’ two other applicants who showed up at her gates around the same time as me into a sort of mercenary party. But what’s important is, I didn’t end up ridin’ all this way only to immediately turn back again. An’ what’s more, all three of us have already been paid a little somethin’ for the job De La’Coen tested our mettle with before givin’ us the _real_ job. I know it’s nothin’ but pocket change for a woman as wealthy as De La’Coen, but _still…_ I ain’t ever seen that much money in my hands at one time. 

An’ I ain’t _ever_ set foot in a place as fancy as De La’Coen’s estate, let alone _stayed_ there. De La’Coen offered all three of us rooms in the guest wing for the night, an’ despite already feelin’ like I was stickin’ out like a sore thumb, I couldn’t help but be a _little_ curious about how much fancier this house could get. An’ as it turns out? Pretty damn fancy. An’ you’d better believe I took full advantage — I must have spent at least half an hour in the shower (!) before rollin’ into an enormous, soft bed with more pillows than I could count.

… Given all this comfort, you’d think I should already be sound asleep, not stayin’ up an’ journalin’ (by _electric lamplight,_ I might add). But despite my relief at gettin’ the job, there’s too many unsettlin’ things surroundin’ it that are already worryin’ me. 

First off, there’s my fellow party members: Ms. Alice Loam an’ Mr. Charley Barnett. Now, I _do_ want to stress that there don’t seem to be anythin’ outright _bad_ about Charley. Maybe I’m biased ‘cause he’s a farm kid, same as me, but he seems fundamentally decent: definitely the quiet type, but decent.

Alice, though… she’s clearly cut from a different cloth than either of us, an’ she had the slick suit an’ sharp tongue to prove it. But when De La’Coen offered us her guest rooms, Alice surprisingly turned her down in favor of spendin’ the night in the workers’ bunkhouse. So she’s a right bundle of contradictions, but one thing’s for sure: Alice has a chip on her shoulder, an’ she has no qualms about makin’ it other people’s problem, too. An’ that… might not bode well for this job.

The job’s the second thing. Well, second _an’_ third things. See, De La’Coen asked the three of us to complete a little job for her before she’d even tell us what the job she was advertisin’ for actually _was:_ a test, of sorts. An’ I have no issue with that; it’s a sensible enough way for De La’Coen to check if any foolhardy folks ignored the “COWARDS NEED NOT APPLY” part of her advertisement an’ applied anyway. But when De La’Coen told us that we’d be huntin’ down… some kind of _beast_ that had been attackin’ the workers out in her oil fields? It took everythin’ I had not to turn tail myself.

An’... I mean, I’m pretty sure it was _jus’_ a wolf. A big one, for sure, but… jus’ a wolf. Even so, once I’d tracked it into the woods an’ once we’d got the wolf’s attention, I couldn’t even get off a single shot, not even as it was snappin’ at Charley. I jus’... _froze,_ right _petrified_ with fear. Fortunately, Alice was a lot quicker on the trigger, an’ she an’ Charley brought it down without too much issue, but… so much for provin’ my own fitness for this job.

Still, neither Alice nor Charley bad-mouthed me to De La’Coen, though they may have been keepin’ their mouths shut out of self-preservation. See, we killed the one wolf, but there was a second one: a poor, snaggle-toothed thing, too sick an’ injured to do much else besides growl at Charley when he got a little too close. Probably got hurt when De La’Coen’s workers started clearin’ trees for the new rig. Probably why the other wolf was attackin’ the workers: huntin’ for its packmate _an’_ gettin’ payback at the same time.

Should we have put it out of its misery? Might have been the kinder thing to do, instead of leavin’ it to starve. Guess we all figured it had suffered enough at human hands — an’ if any of us had mentioned it to De La’Coen, it would only suffer more.

In any case, De La’Coen seemed impressed enough with how we’d handled things, so she finally gave us the _real_ job. As she told it, Wilson Thomas, the High Reverend of the First Church of Trin, announced jus’ last week that he’d had a miraculous vision. He claimed to have seen the goddess Trin herself, an’ that she’d shown him all manner of wonders across this land: not least of all bein’ a spring of eternal life. An’ that “Fountain of Youth” (as De La’Coen called it) is what she’s _really_ after.

An’ that brings me to the fourth, an’ by far most worrisome thing about this whole affair. De La’Coen’s instructions for us were to go to Silverton, gain an audience with High Reverend Thomas, ask him what he knew about the Fountain, an’ — an’ this is what she said, word for word — “make sure he doesn’t tell anyone else.” 

True, that _could_ imply any number of less extreme approaches than the one I’m thinkin’ of. But though she said it matter-of-factly enough, like there was nothin’ untoward or underhanded about it, there was still somethin’ in De La’Coen’s gaze as she said it that sent a chill runnin’ down my spine.

Maybe the fact that she’s all but orderin’ us outright to murder a man shouldn’t shock me: even if that man _is_ the highest authority in the Church. I mean, Jessica De La’Coen _is_ the wealthiest woman in West Gevance. No one gets to be that rich without bein’ willin’ to do any number of unsavory things to get _exactly_ what they want.

 _… Still._ I got the job, so it’s a little too late to go back to Raggdale now. An’ even if I didn’t get the job, I’d still have to stay away from Raggdale for a good long while, in case the Hunt really did follow me there. Right now, I jus’ have to be careful of where this job might take me — _an’_ my fellow party members.

I should get to bed: for real this time. We’ll have an early start for Silverton tomorrow, I’m sure.

**— SAT., AUG. 16, 1880 —**

We’re in Silverton now. Took us a solid day of ridin’, even with how early we set out (an’ even with only two minor delays), but we made it by nightfall. We’re rentin’ rooms in District One, at an inn called the Soddy Door — it’s nowhere near as fancy as De La’Coen’s estate, that’s for sure, but it’s cheap an’ it’s clean an’ _that’s_ what matters. An’ it might even have good breakfast, dependin’ on how much the innkeeper was talkin’ up her cookin’ skills.

Can’t say I much like Silverton from what I’ve seen of it so far. Granted, I’m the kind of person who’ll choose a country town or even plain country over a city any day, but even among the cities I’ve passed through, Silverton ain’t a nice one. Oh, sure, it’s nice for the folks in District Two, where all the grand houses an’ fancy shops an’ fine nightlife are, but go far enough down the stairs to District One an’ it’s like a whole ‘nother city, an’ _not_ in a good way. Plus, Silverton is home to Abbed Academy — the most elite, _an’_ elitist, school of magic in all West Gevance — an’ that’s more than enough reason for me to hate the city on its own. 

At least it’s some small comfort that Charley seems to be as uncomfortable in Silverton as I am… although to be honest, the kid jus’ seems out of his depth in general. We got stopped by bandits at a canyon bridge not far outside the city limits, an’ despite all his courage durin’ yesterday’s wolf hunt, Charley froze right up once a rifle barrel was pointed at him. Still, suppose it’s better than Alice immediately drawin’ her own pistol an’ almost gettin’ us into a flat-out firefight... _‘specially_ considerin’ Charley confessed to me after I’d bartered down an’ then paid the bandits’ toll that it was the first time he’d been held up on the road!

Might not be the last, unfortunately. Ran into some bounty hunters outside Penango on the lookout for Theodore Remmington, an’ any other members of his gang. Now from what I’ve heard, Remmington an’ his people mainly stick to robbin’ banks or trains, but that don’t change the fact that there are plenty of other outlaws who have no qualms about attackin’ travelers — or worse.

But there’s also outlaws that… well, you ain’t real sure _why_ they’re outlaws. Every single bulletin board we’ve passed in Silverton has been plastered with bounty posters for a woman in a wooden mask known only as “Anne.” Apparently, she’s wanted “for attempting to provoke violent rebellion against the good citizens of Silverton”... which, unlike Theodore Remmington’s charges of “robbery” an’ “assault,” is too long an’ vague to tell you anythin’ about what “Anne” has _actually_ done. An’ the fact that some unknown vandal had written “earned revolution” over “violent rebellion” on some of the posters we passed — particularly those down in District One — only raises more questions. 

Unfortunately, I don’t have time to speculate on any of that tonight; can’t keep my eyes open any longer. ‘Sides, we’ve all got to get up on time for church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**CW:** Animal injury/death._


	3. Sunday, August 17 - Monday, August 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice reveals ulterior motives, and High Reverend Thomas makes a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Matt and Raiddy (who play Alice and Charley, respectively) for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> _**Content warnings are in the end notes.** _

**— SUN., AUG. 17, 1880 —**

Day’s not even done yet, an’ it’s already taken a _far_ different direction from what I was expectin’. _Several_ different directions, actually.

At least one of those was church, thankfully. Charley an’ I got directions to the First Church of Trin from some other folks partakin’ of the oatmeal promised by the Soddy Door’s innkeeper (which, I will admit, _was_ pretty good), an’ after breakfast, we headed there. In hindsight, we probably could’ve made it there without directions. With it bein’ in Silverton’s highest district, _an’_ it bein’ the tallest an’ grandest of all the buildings up that way, the First Church _does_ have a way of stickin’ out. 

Of course, all that grandeur meant _we_ also stuck out. Even though I’d changed into a clean shirt before leavin’ the Soddy Door, I still couldn’t hold a candle to any of the fancy folk packin’ themselves into the pews. An’ even though Alice an’ Charley weren’t much more presentable than me, _they_ at least knew when to sit an’ stand an’ sing an’ sit again. I did my best to try an’ follow along with ‘em, but it was probably pretty clear to anyone sittin’ around us that I was jus’ goin’ through the motions.

(While I’m on the subject, I jus’ want to be clear about this one thing: me not makin’ a habit of goin’ to church has nothin’ to do with whether or not I believe in Trin. I wouldn’t call myself _faithful,_ but I think Trin _exists,_ at least. An’ I also think the goddess is better served through practicin’ the virtues she prizes, rather than payin’ lip service to hard work an’ sober judgement every Sunday.)

The High Reverend led the service, an’ when he gave his sermon, everyone was all ears. Though surprisingly young for someone in such a high position, he certainly seems to command respect. An’ there’s no doubt he’s a compellin’ speaker, though I suppose it didn’t hurt that a good chunk of his sermon was devoted to all the miraculous things he’d seen in his vision of Trin: that “Fountain of Youth” that De La’Coen’s after among ‘em. (That bein’ said, I personally think that more folks were payin’ attention to the “mountains of gold” bit.)

After the service, one of the junior Reverends was bookin’ appointments for people to consult with the reverends, so Alice, Charley, an’ I — all figurin’ that would be our best shot to get an audience with High Reverend Thomas — got in line. Unfortunately (an’ probably unsurprisingly), the High Reverend was booked out for the next month, but Alice did some negotiatin’ with the kid an’ got us the last open appointment for this afternoon, with one Reverend Daniel Louis. I didn’t quite know what Alice’s play was there, but she seemed like she knew what she was doin’, so I went along with it.

To be fair, I still ain’t sure _quite_ what to make of Alice in general. But I _do_ know now that there’s a _lot_ more to her than what meets the eye. 

When we left the Church, there was a crowd protestin’ in front of City Hall — don’t know what about, but they were callin’ on Governor Fabe to meet with ‘em or resign. An’ as soon as she saw that crowd, Alice whipped out a notebook an’ a pen from inside her jacket an’ started scribblin’ faster than I’d ever seen anyone write before.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“Taking notes.” Alice didn’t look over at me or Charley: jus’ kept scribblin’ away, her eyes glued to the scene across the square. “I’m a reporter. For the _Gevance Gazette.”_

I frowned. “If you already have a job, what’re you doin’ workin’ for De La’Coen?”

Alice still didn’t shift her gaze to us, but she finally paused her frantic writin’. “I think De La’Coen tried to have me killed,” she said. “And I’d like to find out _why.”_

Understandably, Charley an’ I were pretty taken aback by that claim. But before I got the chance to ask _exactly_ what Alice meant by that, the commotion only increased as Law officers started filin’ out of City Hall. As soon as she saw ‘em — _an’_ the rifles they were armed with — Alice grabbed Charley an’ me by the sleeves an’ yanked us behind the stone wall surroundin’ the Church before peerin’ out of cover an’ resumin’ her note-takin’. 

I lifted my own head over the wall, as did a still-confused Charley: jus’ enough to see what was goin’ on. As the three of us watched, one of the officers stepped forward an’ ordered the crowd to disperse, or face legal repercussions. Not a single person moved.

Then the doors to City Hall opened once again, an’ five more people emerged — not Law officers, but Abbed Academy students; I could see the gleam of the pins on their chests from across the square. At their appearance, some of the protestors started to scatter, but as before, the bulk of the crowd stood their ground.

An’ then the students raised their hands in unison, an’ the crowd began to drop.

For a moment, I weren’t sure _what_ I was seein’, or what was bein’ done to the protestors. But all of the folks that were fallin’ to the cobblestones were still breathin’, if slowly, an’ it was then I realized that the students, their hands high over their heads now, were castin’ a _spell:_ some sort of spell meant to induce sleep, or paralysis, or _both._

I’d _never_ seen magic used like that, not even by Moriah or Reuben. An’ even if I _could_ use _my_ magic like that, I sure as hell wouldn’t. So to witness an entire crowd laid low by those stone-faced students for no reason at all… I’ll admit, my blood ran cold to see it.

At least I ain’t the only one disturbed by what we saw this mornin’. Charley was definitely rattled, but Alice? Based on how we’ve spent our day since then, she seems to have taken what happened to those protesters _real_ personal.

After the Law officers finished arrestin’ everyone who’d been put asleep by the Academy students an’ retreated back into City Hall, Alice bolted down the stairs an’ back into Silverton proper, all the way to the offices of the _Gevance Gazette_ in District Three. Once there, she dropped off her notes with the _Gazette’s_ editor-in-chief, David Rossetti, an’ told him to publish ‘em in case anythin’ happened to her. See, Alice’s plan (as she explained to David, as well as Charley an’ I, who weren’t sure what else to do but tag along) was to do some diggin’ around City Hall an’ figure out what happened to the arrested protestors — _an’_ get to the bottom of why Abbed Academy is directly collaboratin’ with the Law.

(“Is that unusual?” Charley asked with a frown. “I mean, I ain’t familiar with how things work in Silverton, but —”

 _(“Very.”_ Alice’s face was grim. “And considering that separation of branches is the accepted policy when it comes to government in this country, it’s an unprecedented shift.”)

Unfortunately, Alice’s investigations haven’t gone anywhere, an’ as much as I hate to think it, I ain’t sure they will. They started promisingly enough, though. Once we got back into City Hall, Alice spotted a bracelet on some stairs leadin’ into the basement, an’ we followed those stairs all the way down to a locked metal door. But try as she might, Alice couldn’t pick the lock. An’ after makin’ some discreet inquiries among the employees at the nearby Office for Environmental Preservation (“the _least_ corrupt government office, by my reckoning,” Alice muttered), we discovered, much to Alice’s growin’ dismay, that the most probable person to have a key to that door would be the Sheriff of Silverton. So, we paid a visit to the Law Office to see if the Sheriff was in — but again, despite Alice’s best efforts, we were pretty firmly rebuffed by the officer mannin’ the front desk.

So, here we are: camped out on the square an’ keepin’ an eye out for anyone who _might_ be the Sheriff. But, accordin’ to the giant clock hangin’ over City Hall, it’s quarter to three, so whether Alice likes it or not, we’ll have to quit our watch soon. Even if the reverend we’re meetin’ with ain’t the one we were lookin’ to talk to, it wouldn’t do to be late for our appointment.

**Later —**

… I know I wrote not too long ago that today had already taken some wild turns, but _nothin’_ can beat this latest one.

After a mornin’ of setbacks, one of Alice’s schemes _finally_ bore fruit. In our meetin’ with Reverend Louis, she was surprisingly up-front about _why,_ exactly, we were here in Silverton, but spun our interest in talkin’ with High Reverend Thomas about his vision as born of concern over what De La’Coen’s intentions are. Then again, I suppose Alice was bein’ truthful there, too. If she was right about De La’Coen sendin’ folks after her (an’ it seems likely that Alice is — more on that later), then maybe I weren’t wrong to read the most dire meanin’ into De La’Coen’s order to make sure the High Reverend “doesn’t tell anyone else” about the Fountain. In any case, Reverend Louis certainly seemed to take De La’Coen’s words that way, an’ he was quick to personally escort us to the High Reverend’s office.

As for High Reverend Thomas? Well, if Reverend Louis was alarmed by what Alice told him, the High Reverend was downright _panicked:_ so much so that when he started to stammer out some kind of excuse, _somethin’_ about his demeanor caused Charley to cut him off before the poor man could get two words out.

“You’re lyin’, ain’t you?” Charley said, disbelievin’. “There — there never _was_ any vision, was there?”

Alice an’ I both looked at him in shock; not only was it an improbable accusation, it was the most words we’d heard out of Charley all day. But our shock only increased when the High Reverend confessed that Charley was dead on the money.

That bein’ said, High Reverend Thomas didn’t make up his vision of Trin out of whole cloth. He hurriedly explained that the previous High Reverend had passed on an old journal to the man who would later inherit his position: as High Reverend Thomas had been the only one attendin’ the previous High Reverend as he died. High Reverend Thomas admitted that he hadn’t thought to read it at the time, assumin’ it were only the personal reflections of the last High Reverend or the one before the last, but once he finally opened it, High Reverend Thomas was astonished to discover that it was not the case at all.

“I knew I was the only person alive who’d read it,” he explained nervously. “No one would be the wiser that _that_ was where my — my _vision_ was truly from.” The High Reverend gave us a shaky smile. “But when you’re the first and only person since the Five Miners to have a vision of the Goddess Herself… people are bound to ask questions anyway.”

In an attempt to keep the journal hidden until the intense scrutiny he was under passed over, the High Reverend rebound an’ retitled it as _Bees and Their Wings_ an’ secretly shelved it in the Silverton Library. But a week ago, when he returned to retrieve the journal from the stacks, he discovered, much to his distress, that it had been checked out. When he pressed the library staff on who had borrowed it, the High Reverend had been told that it was none other than Wickerman Cornil: manufacturin’ magnate an’ owner of Cornil Factories.

“But you’ll get it back, won’t you?” he asked desperately. “And — and you won’t tell Ms. De La’Coen about it?”

Alice glanced over at Charley an’ me, gaugin’ our reactions before respondin’. “We’ll try,” she said. “But whether or not we succeed, that information _won’t_ get to De La’Coen.”

Obviously, High Reverend Thomas was grateful to hear that, but as for me… I was more than a _little_ uncertain about this course of action, an’ I still am. I don’t want any more blood on my hands: ‘specially now that it’s seemin’ more an’ more likely than De La’Coen intended for us to kill the High Reverend. An’ knowin’ how ruthless an’ uncompromisin’ De La’Coen has shown herself to be, I certainly don’t want the journal fallin’ into her hands, either. 

But by that same token… breakin’ with De La’Coen would be _bad_ for us. At best, it means we don’t get paid, an’ I _sorely_ need that money: to keep myself alive _an’_ to stay out of the Hunt’s reach, if they _are_ still lookin’ for me. An’ at worst… well, the way Alice talks about De La’Coen’s penchant for vindictiveness, it sounds like the Hunt might be the _least_ of my concerns.

Charley’s of the same mind as me, an’ he told Alice as such once we exited the Church. He didn’t like bein’ beholden to De La’Coen anymore than the rest of us, but he had folks back in Shady River countin’ on him to send money home. “Besides,” he added, a strange, quietly desperate look on his face, “I _need_ to —”

Before Charley could finish, he was interrupted by a sudden, chimin’ chirp. 

I ain’t sure if I mentioned this in Friday’s entry, but when De La’Coen sent us off to Silverton, she also gave us a way to keep in contact with her: some kind of long-range communication device shaped like a clockwork bird. I can’t tell if it’s more machine or magic, but Allison Holt — De La’Coen’s secretary an’ the bird’s maker — is an Academy graduate, so the bird jus’ might be both. Regardless, it’s a strange little contraption, an’ a slightly unsettlin’ one at that, an’ I’m glad it took a shine to Charley rather’n me.

Anyway, havin’ announced that a message was comin’ through, the clockwork bird flitted down from the brim of Charley’s hat to Charley’s shoulder. Once the bird opened up its beak, De La’Coen’s voice came through. She asked us how things were goin’ in Silverton, an’ Alice told her we were followin’ up on a lead an’ left it at that. Though she didn’t seem pleased that we didn’t have any more details for her, De La’Coen didn’t pry, fortunately, an’ the bird soon went back to botherin’ Charley.

Seein’ the dubious looks on Charley’s face and mine, Alice sighed. “I didn’t _lie_ to her,” she said. “We _are_ following up on a lead.” She adjusted her hat a little more snugly on her head, expression determined. “Look, if it makes you two feel better, we can go along with what De La’Coen wants, for now. But depending on what we find, we still might have to reconsider our commitment to this job in the future.”

I could agree with _that,_ at least. Besides, given how stubborn Alice had shown herself to be, I figured that what she was offerin’ would be the closest thing to a compromise we could get. Charley still seemed pretty reluctant, but he nodded anyway. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon investigatin’ Wickerman Cornil to the best of our ability. After droppin’ by the Silverton Library an’ confirmin’ that Cornil was indeed the patron who checked out an “uncatalogued” volume titled _Bees and Their Wings,_ we headed down to the address the librarian pulled from his circulation record for us at Alice’s insistence: a distribution center for Cornil Factories in District Three. Unfortunately, Cornil weren’t in, an’ the foreman we flagged down to ask for directions to his office told us he hadn’t been to Silverton in a while — apparently, business had taken an unusual, but disastrous downturn, an’ Cornil had completely retreated from the public eye as a result.

Still, the foreman didn’t stop us from goin’ upstairs to Cornil’s office, an’ he certainly didn’t care enough to wait around an’ make sure Alice didn’t pick the lock on the door. Charley stayed outside the door to keep an eye out as Alice an’ I snooped around, but I think it was less out of concern that the foreman _might_ come back an’ catch us an’ more out of reluctance to break an’ enter.

While we didn’t find the journal, what we _did_ find in Cornil’s office certainly didn’t overturn Alice’s convictions about our course of action. Lookin’ through Cornil’s transactions ledger, I found that Cornil Factories was an extremely profitable company until a few months ago, when shipments from the factory complex stopped comin’ into the distribution center. An’ when Alice sifted through the mountain of mail pilin’ up inside the door — some opened an’ discarded, others never even touched — one of the few open letters was from Allison Holt herself, offerin’ a potential buyout of Cornil Factories by De La’Coen Drilling. I doubt that De La’Coen knows about the journal, _an’_ that Cornil has it — otherwise, she wouldn’t be taskin’ us with findin’ out more about the High Reverend’s vision — but this still seems like too much of a coincidence to me.

Speakin’ of the High Reverend — Alice called on David at the _Gevance Gazette_ again to get into the _Gazette_ ’s archives an’ borrow a few of the profiles the paper had compiled on public figures, an’ the High Reverend’s was one of those profiles. While nothin’ in _that_ profile shed light on what we were lookin’ into, the profile on Dimitri Hammond, the current Sheriff of Silverton, was a little more interestin’. Like High Reverend Thomas, Sheriff Hammond came to his position at a surprisingly young age, but unlike the High Reverend, the Sheriff has a tough reputation — accordin’ to the newspaper clippings in the file Alice pulled, he’s lobbied for increases in Law Office fundin’ every year he’s been in office. 

Since Sheriff Hammond’s address was also in the file, Alice is plannin’ on visitin’ him tomorrow mornin’ for an interview. I ain’t sure what that’ll accomplish — aside from that bracelet, we couldn’t find any sign of the arrested protestors, an’ if somethin’ suspicious _is_ goin’ on between the Law Office an’ Abbed Academy, the Sheriff certainly ain’t goin’ to tell _us_ about it. But Alice seems pretty set on it, so I won’t dissuade her.

As I mentioned before, though, I _did_ get the story behind Alice takin’ this job with De La’Coen. The three of us ended up whilin’ away the rest of the night in a back booth in Etha’s Essence, a bar near the Soddy Door whose patrons were almost exclusively women or nonbinary folks. (Charley had some reservations about goin’ in, as he didn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, but Alice an’ I assured him that he’d be fine, considerin’ he was in _our_ company an’ that he weren’t the type to cause trouble anyway.) In any case, no one raised an eyebrow at our party, an’ once Alice finished goin’ over the High Reverend’s an’ the Sheriff’s profiles — an’ once she’d had a refill — I asked her the question that had been on my mind since this mornin’.

As with before, Alice was nonchalant about it. “It was a typical night for me: that is to say, drinks and cards. The trio of gentlemen I was relieving of their money accused me of cheating — and for the record, I don’t _think_ I was,” she added with a grin. “Nevertheless, two of them grabbed me, and the remaining one pulled a knife and stuck me in the side. Next thing I knew, a Reverend of Trin was helping me out the bar door. She had one arm, a gun belt, and a hard beauty that’s difficult to put into words.”

As Charley an’ I stared at her in disbelief, Alice took a casual sip of her drink before continuin’. “I had no idea who those men were, but after the Reverend patched me up, she told me they worked for De La’Coen Drilling. And since I’d penned more than my fair share of criticism about Jessica De La’Coen’s business practices…” She shrugged. “Well. You can see why I drew the conclusion I did.”

I definitely could. An’ it’s only makin’ me more an’ more uneasy about the directions this job is takin’ us.

**— MON., AUG. 18, 1880 —**

Compared to all the twists an’ turns of yesterday, today was relatively normal. Well, “normal” aside from Alice breakin’ into Sheriff Hammond’s house while Charley an’ I caused a distraction on the street, but the way this job seems to be goin’, that sort of cloak an’ dagger business might be our new normal soon enough. 

As evidenced by the fact that Alice had to break into Sheriff Hammond’s house, her conversation with the Sheriff was _not_ a productive one. Despite Alice marchin’ up to his porch, flashin’ her press credentials, an’ proceedin’ to launch a dizzyin’ volley of questions at him — where the protesters are bein’ held, what crimes were they arrested for, why Abbed Academy students were involved in the arrests — the Sheriff kept his cool an’ countered all of her questions blandly enough. In fact, the only point he was _really_ firm on was that the protesters weren’t bein’ held in City Hall… which is the one point that I could definitively say was a lie.

Alice, of course, knew it was a lie as well — which is why we ended up hunkerin’ down in a nearby coffeehouse, an’ then circlin’ back once we saw the Sheriff leave for work. While Charley tripped an’ fell into the path of some ladies strollin’ along the street, an’ while he an’ I both made a big to-do out of helpin’ ‘em up, Alice climbed in through a window on the ground floor that had been left cracked open. By the time Charley an’ I had finished apologizin’ to the ladies, Alice had taken a dive out of a second-story window an’ into a thorn bush. 

That aside, Alice got out clean, _an’_ with two tellin’ pieces of information. The first was a bottle of expensive champagne on the Sheriff’s office desk, accompanied by a congratulatory note written by none other than Jessica De La’Coen. The second (which Alice had pocketed to show Charley an’ I) was a scrap of a letter salvaged from the fireplace: badly burned, but not enough to conceal that the letter had been written by William Della, Director of Abbed Academy.

Though yesterday’s events were beginnin’ to come together in a more troublin’ larger picture — one that also cast De La’Coen in an equally sinister light — even Alice had to admit that there weren’t much more we could do to fill in the gaps. Breakin’ into the Sheriff’s house was one thing, but doin’ the same for the Law Office, or Trin forbid, Abbed Academy, was _quite_ another. But we still had our lead on Wickerman Cornil, an’ on the journal he’d somehow picked up, so we packed up our things an’ rode south out of Silverton towards Cornil Factories.

The ride itself was an easy one, though we _did_ have a strange encounter on the way. About halfway through our journey, we hit a crossroads an’ got flagged down by a man who’d set up a sort of pop-up shop out of the back of a wagon — although what he was sellin’... weren’t exactly the usual wares. No, what this man was hawkin’ was _wishes,_ an’ not in exchange for gold, neither: for friendship, an’ for a signature on some sort of contract.

I didn’t believe his claims, of course — when you’ve been out on the road as long as I have, you see all sorts of con artists makin’ promises too good to be true an’ jus’ as many people fallin’ for ‘em. But somethin’ about this man made me unaccountably uneasy, an’ it weren’t until we declined his offer an’ rode a good distance off that Charley said somethin’ that made it all click. Though the table with his contract an’ a quill had been out under the desert sun, the man himself sat under a tent almost completely in shadow: like he couldn’t stand the light to touch him.

In any case, we left the contract-man behind at the crossroads an’ continued on, an’ shortly after sunset, we’d crested the hill overlookin’ Cornil Factories. Most every buildin’ in the complex was already dark, so we decided to set up camp nearby an’ head in come mornin’, when people are actually awake. 

Charley volunteered for first watch, an’ I’m after him, so I should probably get some sleep in the meantime. Here’s hopin’ we make a little more headway with Cornil tomorrow than we have been with... everythin’ else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**CW:** Suppression of a protest by law enforcement, discussion of past attempted murder._


End file.
